


Umbrella

by HumsHappily



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Blood, Cancer, First Time, Flashbacks, Homophobic Language, Johncroft, M/M, Major Illness, Masturbation, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Missed Opportunities, Mycroft's Umbrella, Panic Attacks, Sad Ending, Snogging, Suicidal Thoughts, Unilock, Virgin Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:49:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3596949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumsHappily/pseuds/HumsHappily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> “The hell he is. And you aren’t, either.” John replied. “Your eyes are red, your umbrella’s nowhere in sight and you called me John. Twice. You haven’t done that in years.” <br/>Mycroft’s eyes widened. “You…”<br/>John snorted. “You thought I wouldn’t remember? Didn’t remember a name like Mycroft Holmes?” <br/>“Well, you never said anything.” Mycroft replied, fingers tightening on Sherlock’s shirt. <br/>“Why would I? Not matter what we had, it was over the second I got my deployment orders.” John scoffed. “You made that perfectly clear.” <i></i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Umbrella

**Author's Note:**

> This is a submission to FYTL's rare pair fic contest. Find them [here](http://fuckyeahteenlock.tumblr.com/)

As he fumbled with his keys, hands busy with three full bags from Tesco, John used his hip to nudge the door open, pushing inside 221b. 

“I know you heard me coming, you prat,” he grumbled, toeing off his shoes. “And why was the door locked anyway? I know you’re home...” He trailed off, looking to the sofa. Sherlock had his head buried in his brother’s lap; Mycroft looking pained, eyes rimmed red. “Mycroft?” 

“Ah. You’re home early, John,” Mycroft greeted him, tipping his head slightly. “We weren’t expecting you for another hour.” 

“Mycroft, what the hell is going on?” John asked, coming forward. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, John. My brother has just had a surprise. You’re home now; I shall leave him to your care.” 

“Bullshit.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?” 

“Sherlock hasn’t moved since I came in, hasn’t said anything to me at all. He’s got his head buried in your lap,” John replied, arms crossed. “That’s more than a surprise, that’s a massive shock. Look at him, he’s trembling!” 

“Sherlock is fine.”

“The hell he is. And you aren’t, either.” John replied. “Your eyes are red, your umbrella’s nowhere in sight and you called me John. Twice. You haven’t done that in years.” 

Mycroft’s eyes widened. “You…”

John snorted. “You thought I wouldn’t remember? Didn’t remember a name like Mycroft Holmes?” 

“Well, you never said anything.” Mycroft replied, fingers tightening on Sherlock’s shirt. 

“Why would I? Not matter what we had, it was over the second I got my deployment orders.” John scoffed. “You made that perfectly clear.” 

“John, I never meant--” 

“It’s over and done with, Mycroft. I’d think that was clear that I’ve moved on, since I’m able to talk with you and live with Sherlock.” 

“I’m afraid I still regret my actions that day.”

“You should,” John said. “You broke my fucking heart and you know it.” 

At that, Sherlock sat up and fled without looking at either of the men, slamming his bedroom door behind him. 

“John. I never meant--” Mycroft repeated, and again, John held up a hand stopping him.

“Done, Mycroft. Now, why are you here, and what the hell is wrong with Sherlock?”

Mycroft took a deep breath. “I’m afraid, I had to share some...bad news, on a personal front. My situation has progressed to the state that I am afraid I am no longer able to hide it from my brother. Before he could deduce the matter, I decided to bring it to his attention in hopes to stave off any unpleasant reactions. As you can see, I was not successful.” 

“For god’s sake, Mycroft, what is it?” John sighed, coming to stand in front of the man, arms crossed. “Use your bloody words for once.” 

“I’m dying.”

“You..” John felt his stomach roll, bile rising in his throat. “You’re joking right?” 

“Afraid not.” Mycroft said softly. “I’m sure you know that tonight will be a danger night for Sherlock. He cares more than he lets on.” 

“Mycroft, shut up about Sherlock for a minute. What do you mean you’re dying?” John demanded hoarsely, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

“I mean that I have an inoperable mass in my pancreas which has metastasized, unfortunately taking up residence in my brain. Despite my careful monitoring of my health, it was caught too late. Cancer, John, can slip past the best of us,” Mycroft replied, voice steady.

“You...there must be something Mycroft.” John said weakly. 

Mycroft shook his head. “There isn’t. In any case, I should be off.” 

“You can’t seriously be leaving.” 

“Why wouldn’t I? I’ve been slowly dying for the past year or so, I hardly think staying here is going to do me any good.” 

“Mycroft. You’re going to go home to an empty house. I know you are. Alone doesn’t protect people. God, you never listened when I told you that.”

“And that is the bed I’ve made for myself. I do believe you made that clear,” Mycroft said, standing. “Excuse me, Doctor Watson. I will be leaving now.”He stepped past, making his way to the door. 

“Myc.” John said, in a strangled voice as Mycroft’s hand settled on the handle. Mycroft froze turning back to him at the nearly forgotten moniker. John’s face was shattered, skin pale, eyes wide.“I lied. I...never moved on.”

Mycroft gifted him a broken smile. “Then that at least is something we still share. Goodbye John.” He exited, leaving John to listen as he made his way slowly down the steps. 

\------------------------

_“Hello there.” John smiled charmingly, as all one hundred seventy centimeters of him leaned against the wall next to a study desk tucked deep within the library._

_“Go away.”_

_“I’m offended Myc, I really am.”_

_“Mr. Watson, I am trying to study. I have no less than four exams this week, none of which I am adequately prepared for.”_

_“Right.” John rolled his eyes. “You might get second rank in the class instead of first. So sad.” He pushed off the wall. “Ya know Myc, maybe a little bit of down time would be good for you. Y’know, drinks, dancing.” He trailed his fingers playfully along Mycroft’s shoulder, then settled his whole hand against his shoulder. His expression shifted, becomingmore serious. “Maybe answer me when I try to talk to you about the group project we have to do together instead of hiding away in the library.”_

_“I’ve told you. There is no need to collaborate. I’m more than happy to simply place your name on the finished project.” Mycroft scowled, brushing John’s hand away._

_“And I’ve told you,” John said coming around to sit on the desk. “I’m not going to do that. It’s not right, and I won’t learn anything from it.”_

_Mycroft huffed, pulling a book from beneath John’s leg and thrusting it into his bag._

_“Mycroft. You are not getting rid of me that easy. I need to work on this assignment. I need to keep my scholarship.”_

_“Rugby keeps your scholarship,” Mycroft replied, tying his satchel shut._

_“That’s ignorant. I got that scholarship because I keep my grades up. Rugby was just a bonus.”_

_Mycroft stood, and John mirrored him, glaring hotly. “I mean it, Mycroft. Stop ignoring me, or I will go to Dr. Root.”_

_“You wouldn’t.” Mycroft said, narrowing his eyes._

_“The hell I wouldn’t,” John replied, pursing his lips. “Don’t test me, Mycroft Holmes. Or I will show you that you’re not the only one who can manipulate people.”_

_“I don’t--fine. Give me your address.” Mycroft huffed, giving up on the entire conversation._

_John grinned and the anger vanished from his face. He rattled off his address, and slapped Mycroft on the back. “This is going to be a wonderful partnership. I can sense it.”_

_Mycroft scowled and stalked away as John watched, eyes twinkling._

_“See you Monday!” he called, only to be hushed by another patron, glaring at him from around the stacks. He winked and headed to the exit, whistling quietly._

\--------

“I’m fine.” 

“Sherlock, you haven’t eaten in two days. Please? Just a bit of toast.”

“No.” 

“You need to eat.”

“No, I don’t! Leave me be!” Sherlock snapped, drawing his bow across the strings of his violin with an unholy screech.

“Fine!” John snapped back. “Don’t eat then. Starve. I don’t fucking care, you heartless git! What’s one more Holmes leaving me then?” He grabbed the plate and turned away as if to dispose of it, then stopped, his shoulders shaking. 

Sherlock froze, turning to stare at John. His friend was suddenly choking, knees weak, as he fought to draw breath. “John, are you all right?” Sherlock asked hesitantly. 

“I...I need some air,” John said faintly, setting the plate on the table, moving to gather his coat, keys, shoes. 

“John, it’s raining,” Sherlock said, raising his head as he studied John carefully. 

“Just a little walk,” John replied, opening the door. “Won’t be gone long.” 

“You don’t have an--” 

John slipped out before Sherlock could finish his thought, shutting the door behind him softly. He made his way down the stairs and out, past Mrs. Hudson’s door and the dim chatter of a late night bingo showing. He walked out, pausing at the stoop, head spinning. “You don’t have an umbrella.”

\--------

_Monday found Mycroft Holmes standing on John Watson’s stoop, soaking wet. John chuckled as he let the man in._

_“You don’t have an umbrella.”_

_“I regretfully did not check the forecast before leaving my dormitory.” Mycroft replied, taking his satchel from his back. “Shall we?”_

_“You’re smart enough to know you should always carry an umbrella.”_

_“Why would I carry an umbrella if there is no chance for rain?”_

_“Protection.” John grinned back at him. He lead him down the hall and past the kitchen where a rather rotund youth was snoring, slumped on the table over a textbook. “Don’t mind Mike. He’s had a rough go these past few weeks. Girlfriend broke up with him, and he failed an exam. Been studying all week to make it up.” He stopped and jiggled the handle to a rough wooden door carefully. “Been meaning to fix this.” The door popped open with a click and John grinned. “Right, here we are.” He flicked on the light, revealing a clean bedroom, a large desk tucked in the far corner under a small window. He walked in, kicking his shoes off and tumbling onto the bed. “Myc?” He said, craning his neck from where it hung off the side. “You coming?”_

 

_Mycroft started with a flush from where he had remained standing in the doorway. “Apologies. I did not realize we would be, ahem, working in your boudoir.”_

_John sat up with a shrug. “We can move back out to the kitchen if you like. I just had all the texts and stuff in here. And Mike, he drools.” He wiggled off the bed, rolling to flop on the ground with an ‘oomph’. “Besides, I’m a fan of my bed.” He grinned up at Mycroft. “You could be too, if you liked.” He winked and hopped up. “Let me grab another chair, yeah?” Mycroft just blinked in surprise as John darted out the door. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the man was….flirting._

_John came back with a chair, setting it down in front of the desk. “You alright there, Mycroft?”_

_“Fine,” Mycroft replied, moving forward. “Let us begin.”_

_\--------_

John found himself on Waterloo bridge, watching the water rush under the concrete. The bridge was strong and steady, but around the edges it was rough, beginning to crack and erode. The lamp light above him flickered twice and expired as John hunched his shoulders against the lash of rain. He sighed and kicked a bit of loose gravel off the side, watching it plummet, path lost among the blinding raindrops and the dim surrounding light. At the sound of a horn in the distance, he started, shaking his head and leaving the bridge. 

\--------

_John squinted up at the rapidly clouding sky, unfurling his umbrella as Mike swore._

_“Not again.”_

_“Mike, we live in London. You should be used to it by now.”_

_“Doesn’t mean I like it,” Mike replied, unfurling his own bright red umbrella as rain began to fall._

_They set off down the path, cursing as a driver went past, splashing muck filled water up onto the cement._

_“No one likes pedestrians,” Mike said gloomily as they trudged down._

_“We’re almost there. And you wouldn’t like pedestrians if you had to dodge them on the road either.” John grinned, turning the corner and ducking into an alleyway, shielded from the rain by an oddly placed awning.He turned back to continue his point as he closed his umbrella, but stumbled over a pair of long legs. “Shit.” John dropped hard, scraping his hands on the gravel._

_He turned, wincing at the pain in his palms. “Are you-- jesus, Mycroft?”_

_The man in question had his head tipped back, a bloody cotton handkerchief pressed to his nose._

_“Christ, are you all right?” Mike said, coming forward._

_“Fine, thank you. No need to concern yourselves.” He replied, throat clogged._

_“You’re not fine, you’re bleeding.” John said as he stood, reaching a hand out to Mycroft._

_“Come here, let me and Mike look at you.” He pulled the man up, and out of the shadows of the bin with a wince. “Oi, that looks terrible.”_

_Mycroft glared, but with his left eye swollen and head still tipped back, the look lacked its normal sting._

_“Who the hell did this to you?” John asked, rummaging in his bag for something to soak the blood running from a cut above Mycroft’s temple._

_“Was it a mugging?” Mike asked, holding out a wad of brown paper napkins to John._

_“Yes.” Mycroft replied quickly, grimacing as John pressed down against the cut._

_“Well, fuck did they get anything?” John asked, swearing as he pulled a penlight from his pocket. “Hold still.”_

_“Should I call the police?” Mike asked._

_“No!” Mycroft snapped, John raising his brow at the man’s suddenly tense body._

_“Mike? Could you give us a minute?”Mike nodded and stepped away. “Ta.”John turned back to Mycroft. “Now. Why don’t you tell me what really happened here.”_

_“It is no concern of yours.” Mycroft replied, waving his hand as he tried to pull away. “I shall be fine. Do continue with your night.”_

_John grabbed his hand. “Stop that.” He guided Mycroft to hold the wad of paper against his cut and went back to checking his pupils. “Don’t think you’ve got a concussion, but you’re lucky with the hit to the temple.” He clicked off the light and sat back on his heels, arms crossed. “Mycroft. Do you...know who did this to you?”_

_"Yes. But as I've said it is no con--"_

_"It is a concern. Especially for me." John replied. "Mycroft, is there a reason you don't want me to know what happened?"_

_"Yes," Mycroft uttered quietly, not meeting John's eyes._

_"Would you tell me if I guessed correctly?"_

_Mycroft nodded, and John sighed. "All right then. So, someone you know, and who knows you. Presumably, with some type of grudge. You're not offensive on the whole, and I hardly think it's anything criminal. So, if I had to guess, I'd say it's something a bit more personal. Afraid you were going to steal their girlfriend?" John paused, waiting for a response. He sighed again, and continued._

_"Or maybe a bit more afraid you were interested in them?"_

_Mycroft's intake of breath told him he had hit the target._

_"Right." John stood, uncrossing his arms. "Up then." He extended a hand and Mycroft flinched, somehow making himself appear small and pitiful. John scoffed. "Myc, I'm not going to hurt you." Mycroft looked up at him expression unreadable. John waggled his fingers. "Come on. Up."_

_Mycroft reached up hesitantly, taking John's hand. John pulled him up with a smile. "See? Just a friend." Mycroft nodded, still wary and John squeezed his hand. "It's fine you know. All of it."_

_"But-" Mycroft started._

_"But what? But you're an athlete, why aren't you beating the stuffing out of me? But why aren't you worried I'm going to chat you up?" John chuckled. "Be a bit hard to beat you up for being gay and taking an interest in me, seeing as how I wouldn't mind if you did."_

_Mycroft's uninjured eye widened slightly as he looked down at John in surprise._

_"Not gay. Bisexual," John said, with a shrug. "That's not a problem is it?"_

_"Not as such, no."_

_"Brilliant." John grinned. "Now, have you got anywhere to go?"_

_"Sorry?"_

_"I don't want you wandering about London wounded." John shrugged. "Or going back to your dormitory with a head wound. You can come home with us for a bit, we're getting takeaway."_

_"I don't want to be a bother." Mycroft replied, giving his nose one last swipe and tucking the handkerchief away._

_John winked. "You? Hardly. Come on." John finally dropped Mycroft's hand, scooped up his umbrella and turned to walk after Mike. Mycroft followed, flexing his curiously tingling hand._

 

\---------

John stared at the black front door, eerily similar to Baker Street, with its golden numbers and slightly crooked knocker. He was slumped on the metal bench across the street, waiting for something, anything to happen. So when the door opened, and Mycroft beckoned for him to enter, he wasn’t surprised. If anything, he was disappointed. God had failed him again. There would be no golden light shining down, miraculously healing Mycroft. There was just the dying man, standing there, calling him over. Shaking his head, John stayed seated, listening to the faint crinkle of the brown paper bag by his side as raindrops spatted down.  

\---------

_John groaned, setting aside a nearly empty take-away box. “I can’t do it any more.” He rested his hands over his belly, looking to Mike. “You win.” The man was stretched out on the floor, and he lazily raised a hand, giving John the two finger salute._

_“Ta mate.” Mike said, with a belch. He sat up, chugged the last of his beer and saluted. “Now, you’ve admitted my superiority, I’m off to bed.” He stumbled away, bouncing off the hall walls. Mycroft watched him go, wrinkling his nose. John chuckled, setting aside his nearly full bottle._

_“Don’t mind Mike. We were meant to celebrate his finally passing that exam.”_

_Mycroft flushed. “Apologies. I hope I didn’t ruin your night.”_

_“Nah, it’s fine,” John said, smiling. “Don’t mind your company. Did you get enough to eat?”_

_“Yes. Thank you,” Mycroft replied._

_“How’s the head?” John asked, turning and shuffling off the couch to stand in front of Mycroft._

_“Fine. My neck however, is rather stiff. I expect it shall be quite a bit worse in the morning.”_

_“Yeah, most likely.” John said, reaching out. “C’mere, lemme see if I can help any.” He settled his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders gently, beginning to work the kinks out._

_Mycroft froze, biting his lip to stop from moaning at the touch. John pressed the heels of his hand along his back, sending a dull calming pressure through the man’s muscles._

_“John, this is hardly necessary.” He managed to gasp, pulling away._

_“I’ll stop if you want, but you do need to relax a little.” John said with a shrug. “Anytime you like Myc, I’d be willing to help with that.” He let his hand trail down the other man’s arm, wrapping his fingers around Mycroft’s wrist. Mycroft shivered as John’s pointer settled over his pulse point, tapping in time to his heartbeats. “Relax, Myc.” John said, tipping Mycroft’s chin up with his free hand. He gazed down at the man, eyes calming as he smiled. “It’s all right. All of it.” John leaned in, brushing a chaste kiss over the Mycroft’s lips, before pulling back. Mycroft gasped, flushing a brilliant red as John watched him._

_“John, I…”_

_“It’s all right, Mycroft, I mean it. If you’re interested, we’ll see where it goes. If not, then we can forget this happened.” John shrugged. “But, I’d like to stay friends.”_

_“Friends?” Mycroft stammered._

_“Well, yeah. I’d like to think we are, or at least we could be.” John replied, moving back onto the couch. He slid close to Mycroft, their thighs pressing together. “Is that something you’d want, or have I made a complete arse of myself already?”_

_Mycroft turned to look at him, at a loss for what to say. His head was pounding, thoughts swirling like thick syrup as he met John’s eyes. “No…” John winced and shifted away, apologies already tumbling from his lips. “Wait!” Mycroft said, grasping for John’s hand. “I meant no, I want to be friends, I mean at least friends, I just, I don’t have friends, not normally and...” Mycroft stopped talking, running his hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh as he looked down at his lap. He snapped his head back up at the soft chuckle from John. “Why are you...don’t laugh at me,” He said quietly, letting his hurt and confusion leak into his tone._

_“Oh, Myc. I’m sorry,” John said softly, moving back to press against him. “I didn’t mean to laugh. You’re just kinda cute when you blush and get all frazzled. Never seen you like that before, you’re normally all stiff and polished. It’s adorable.”_

_Mycroft bit his lip. “I just...I do not appreciate it when people make fun of me. Far too many bad memories.”_

_“I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you,” John said quietly, moving his hand up and down Mycroft’s arm. “Brilliant mind. Leagues ahead of everyone else, aren’t you. I can see it you know, when you’re processing something. Your eyes go somewhere, they fade away but somehow, sharpen. It’s amazing.”_

_Mycroft bit his lower lip and closed his eyes. “It’s not..It is a curse, not a blessing. I drive everyone away.” He stilled, as John pulled his hand away, only to place it over Mycroft’s heart._

_“Mycroft, look at me please.” Mycroft allowed his eyes to open, fixing upon John’s face._

_“And so you think being alone will protect you, don’t you?”John asked, a sad smile on his face. “Think that if you don’t let anyone close, no one will leave?”_

_“Yes.” Mycroft admitted, unable to meet John’s gaze._

_“Will you try then? Try letting me in?” John said, cupping Mycroft’s face. “Alone...it doesn’t protect people.”_

_“John.” Mycroft said softly, pressing into the touch. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”He looked up to meet John’s eyes, and lay back, pulling John toward him. “I don’t want to be alone,” He repeated, staring up at John, eyes wide and trusting. “Please.”_

_John hushed him, free hand coming forward to brace himself as he hovered above Mycroft._

_“I know, Myc.” John tipped his head down, and he hummed softly as his tongue slid across Mycroft’s bottom lip. Mycroft parted his lips, accepting John with a quiet, needy whimper. John deepened the kiss, tongue searching as Mycroft reciprocated, mimicking his actions. He brought his arms up, wrapping them around John’s neck, pulling the shorter man closer. John smiled against his mouth, pulling back._

_“Myc? Do you wanna move into the other room?”_

_Mycroft tensed under John, closing his eyes. John paused his movements in concern. “Mycroft?”_

_“I…” Mycroft started as he tightened his arms, burying his fingers in John’s jumper and hiding his face in John’s neck. “I’ve never been with anyone before.” John stroked his back, sitting them up carefully._

_“Mycroft, you know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to right?” he asked, threading his fingers through the man’s hair. He pushed Mycroft’s fringe back, nudging his face out of hiding. “Was that your first kiss?” Mycroft nodded, burying his flaming face once more. “Hey now. Don’t be embarrassed. I should have asked.” John sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of Mycroft’s head. “Nothing to be ashamed of, some people take a little longer to get started. Hell, some people never do. And that’s okay as well, right?” Mycroft nodded again, exhaling softly._

_“What do you want to do then, Myc?” John asked, holding him close. “Do you want to do anything tonight? If you don’t, I’m more than willing to just cuddle on the couch until you want to leave.” He grinned, dropping another kiss to Mycroft’s head. “Come on, Myc. Talk to me.”_

_Mycroft pulled away, licking his lips nervously. “I...want you. I want you to touch me. Everywhere.” John’s breath caught as he looked at Mycroft, and he pressed a kiss to the man’s forehead._

_“You’re amazing.”_

_Mycroft tipped his head down again, for some reason finding himself fighting tears. "I am not, not really, but thank you for your sentiment."_

_"Hey, now. What's this?" John asked, quietly. "You don't believe that do you?" He tilted Mycroft's head up, kissing him gently. "You do amaze me. In class, you're always ten steps ahead of everyone else. I've seen you figure out what was wrong with a data set with just a glance. You're miles ahead with your studies and half the med students are in utter awe, even though you're years behind us. You're not even in med school! You're taking these courses for electives."_

_"It is simple brainwork. Anyone could do it." Mycroft said. "You don't honestly think that of me do you?"_

_"Think that you're brilliant?" John said. "Yes, I do. And I think that you need a friend to show you. You need someone that will let you believe it." John leaned in, kissing him again. "Will you let me be that person?"_

_Mycroft let out a shuddering breath, searching John's eyes. "I....yes. Please, John."_

_John smile and grasped Mycroft’s hand, squeezing lightly. “Do you want to stay here or would you like to move?”_

_“Perhaps..it would be best if we relocated.”_

_“All right then.” John stood, pulling Mycroft up with him. “Let me take care of you, Myc.”_

_Mycroft nodded. “I trust you, John.” He allowed himself to be led down the hall and into the bedroom, pulling the door shut slowly behind them._

_John led him to the bed, sitting Mycroft down on the edge of the mattress._

_“If you want something, need me to stop, anything at all,” John said, “You tell me, got it?”_

_Mycroft nodded, body trembling slightly as John moved toward him. John hushed him, setting a hand on his shoulder. He leaned in to kiss him, hand drifting down to the hem of Mycroft’s shirt. Mycroft gasped as John’s hot hands slid over his skin, moving him farther onto the bed even as they pulled off his clothes, still slightly damp from the weather earlier. He shivered as his cardigan and shirt hit the floor. John crawled up the bed to lay beside him and pulled his own shirt off in a swift motion. Mycroft gave a small ‘oh’, reaching a hesitant hand up to press against his chest. John chuckled, pulling Mycroft’s hand over slightly, so it rested atop his heart. He bent his head down, pressing a kiss to Mycroft’s fingertips. Mycroft sighed at the gentle pressure, relaxing into his hold. John shifted to kneel over him, straddling his waist. Mycroft tensed as John’s hands went to his waistband and he stopped, looking at him carefully._

_“Myc? This all right?” Mycroft nodded, closing his eyes. John leaned forward, kissing him. “I need to hear you say it, Myc.”_

_Mycroft opened his eyes to John’s concern. “I want you.” He moved his hands up, stroking over John’s back. “Please.”_

_John smiled down at him, unbuttoning his trousers. Mycroft closed his eyes again at the feeling of John’s hands pushing his bottoms down his thighs, goose flesh pimpling his skin. John shifted away, pulling them completely down and off, before wriggling out of his own. He hummed nervously at the sound of a drawer opening, hands twisting in the bedsheets._

_John smoothed a hand over his cheek, bending to kiss him once more. “Tell me what you want, Myc.”_

_“Just you.” Mycroft replied, flushing a brilliant red. “I want to feel you in me. I want you to...fuck me.”_

_John groaned, cupping his face once more. “You’ll be the death of me.” He pressed his lips to his forehead, and Mycroft shivered as he heard the click of a cap opening. John pushed his legs wide, bending his knees. “Just breathe, love,” he said, one hand moving to Mycroft’s cock, stroking it gently._

_Mycroft gave a low whine at the endearment, feeling a flush spread across his body. He pressed his hips into the mattress, fighting the urge to beg for more as his body reacted, cock jumping. John bent over him, pressing a kiss to his belly. “I’m going to open you now,” he said quietly. “Just breathe and bear down for me alright? Try not to tense.” Mycroft nodded and John slid a finger down, teasing at his rim. “Have you ever done this before?”_

_Mycroft flushed as he nodded his head, hands coming up to cover his face. “I liked it,” he whispered, embarrassed and shy._

_John paused, emitting a low groan. “Jesus.” He tugged Mycroft’s hand away, kissing him deeply. “You have no idea how you look right now, do you?” He moved back, slicking around Mycroft’s hole as he rested the tip of his finger in the center. “Nice and easy, beautiful. You’ve got this.”_

_Mycroft gave a soft cry as John pressed in, finger slipping past the ring of muscle. He pressed down, seeking more, begging wordlessly to be filled. John breathed carefully, pressing the heel of his hand down on his own erection at the man writhing beneath him._

_“Do you want another?”_

_Mycroft nodded, eyes still shut tight as he spread his legs wider. John slid in a second digit, scissoring him open, leaning forward to swallow Mycroft’s cries. A third was added soon after, Mycroft shaking as John stroked over his prostate. “Please,” he begged against John’s lips. “Take me.”_

_John leaned back with a final kiss, rolling a condom down over his cock. He angled himself, settling the tip of his cock at Mycroft’s entrance. He grabbed Mycroft’s hands, twining their fingers together against the pillows. “Mycroft. Look at me.”_

_Mycroft opened his eyes, gasping at the mix of hunger and gentleness in John’s eyes as he was breached for the first time. As tears began to bead at the corner of Mycroft's eyes, he arched against John, the blond squeezing his hands tight._

_“I’ve got you,” John murmured, releasing one hand to stroke Mycroft’s cock. “Just let go.”_

_He began to thrust slowly, pushing deep into Mycroft as the other man whined, hands coming up to scrape at his back. John worked him steadily, until Mycroft gave a final shuddering cry, spilling over John’s palm. He whined as John withdrew, body clenching around the man’s cock. “Shh.” John murmured, stroking himself quickly. He threw his head back and came, Mycroft watching in wonder as he trembled, face contorting as he filled the condom. John moved off the bed then, disposing of it and rummaging for a flannel. He brought it back to the bed, cleaning Mycroft gently before tossing it to the ground. He stretched out beside him, hands tracing idle patterns across his skin, connecting freckles in long arching sweeps._

_Mycroft sighed, turning into him. “Thank you,” he murmured, burying his face in the smaller man’s chest. “It was...not as worrying as I imagined it could be.”_

_“You were fine, Myc,” John murmured back. “Rest, please. You need it.”_

_Mycroft nodded, feeling safe and content, closing his eyes as John wrapped him in his arms. He faded out quickly, John following, lulled to sleep by the harmony of their easy breathing._

_\---------_

_The morning after, Mycroft woke to the sound of rain still tapping against the windows of John’s bedroom. He turned over, only to find John smiling down at him._

_“Good morning, gorgeous.”_

_Mycroft blushed as John leaned in for a chaste kiss, hands caressing his side._

_“I should go,” Mycroft said softly. “I have classes today.”_

_“All right.”_

_Mycroft moved out from under the sheets, muscles achy and loose as he stood with a wince and began to dress.John chuckled, sliding over to him._

_“You’ll need an umbrella, ” John murmured quietly, looking at the water pouring down outside. He moved off the bed, unabashedly naked, making Mycroft blush again. With a smile, he ducked into the closet, pulling out a tall black umbrella with a brown curved handle. “Here. Keep it, I don’t need as many as I have.”_

_“I really don’t...” Mycroft started, blinking as John took his hands and wrapped them around the handle._

_“There. Terribly dignified.” John smiled. “One day, you’re going to rule Britain aren’t you?”_

_Mycroft smiled bashfully. “If you say so John. It is far more likely I’ll be naught but a minor government official.”_

_Shrugging, John tugged on a robe, knotting the belt tightly around his waist. “Shall I walk you out?”_

_Mycroft nodded and slid his shoes on. They made their way down the hall, John pushing open the front door._

_“Will I see you again soon?” John asked quietly._

_“I think so, yes.” Mycroft replied._

_“Brilliant.” With that, John leaned in, pressing a gentle open mouthed kiss to Mycroft’s lips, winding a hand around his neck. Mycroft broke away after a moment, blinking rapidly._

_“I really must go.”_

_John nodded. “Don’t lose that umbrella now.”_

_Mycroft tipped his head in gratitude, stepping out and snapping the umbrella open. John watched, leaning against the doorframe as Mycroft moved away, a soft smile on his face._

\---------

“John...perhaps it would be best if we relocated.” 

John jumped at the voice, hand immediately going to his waistband for the gun that wasn’t there. He relaxed slightly as his eyes met a concerned blue gaze, but he quickly frowned.

“Why? What’s the point?” He asked, turning away and lifting the paper bag by his side. Mycroft raised his eyebrows as he unscrewed the bottle cap within and took a swig. 

“Is drinking really the correct response to this?” 

“Well, what should I do Mycroft?” John snapped, glaring up at the umbrella stopping the rain from pouring down on him. “Come beg for you to take me back? You’re dying. From what I recall, it’s rather permanent. Well, except for Sherlock, so maybe that’s what you’re counting on.” He growled, taking another swig.

“John, you’ve been sitting here for hours. It’s nearly two in the morning.” 

“Again, what does it matter?” John replied. “Fuck it. Forget I was here, I don’t even know why I came.” He stood, shaking his head as he made to walk away. 

“Three weeks.” Mycroft said, quietly. John paused, turning back to him, bottle falling from his fingers with a hollow clink, drink spilling from the neck. 

“What?” 

“They’ve given me three weeks before the mass in my brain grows large enough to cut off circulation, effectively paralyzing me. I’ll lose lung function quickly, unable to breathe. I’ll suffocate. If I’m lucky, I’ll develop a blood clot before then, and have a stroke,” Mycroft replied. He looked up at the dark sky with a sigh, swinging his umbrella down and closing it with one deft movement. “And of all of it, I’m the most terrified that I will be alone. I never wanted to be alone, you know that.” 

John stared as Mycroft continued, eyes blinking against the rain spattering down on his skin. 

“It’s been absolutely ages since I’ve felt the rain on my face. Always too busy rushing about, always under an umbrella.” Mycroft looked at John sadly. “You asked once, if you could take care of me. I said I trusted you. That never changed.” He extended a hand, holding perfectly still. “Will you let me take care of you now?” 

John closed his eyes, rubbing at his face. “Myc...You’re dying,” he said, voice muffled through a gun calloused palm. “I’m a doctor and there is nothing I can do about it. How can I look you in the eyes, knowing that you’re going to leave me? Again.” He opened his eyes, streaks of salty tears mingling with raindrops. “I don’t know what to do,” John choked out. “I can’t help you, so what use am I?” 

Mycroft moved then, dropping his umbrella and closing the distance between them in two long strides. He pulled John to him, the smaller man clutching at his jacket with a sob. “There is nothing to be done, John.” He slid his hands to cup John’s cheeks, tugging his face up. “It is not fair. Even I cannot control fate. Do not feel guilty, John.” He stared down, eyes soft and unguarded. “By being here, you are helping. Please, do not cry. I am not worth your tears.”

John gave a wet snort. “Decades in, and you still can’t see what you mean to me, how important you are.” He tucked his head back into Mycroft’s chest. “Myc? Take me home. Don’t leave me alone.” John asked. 

“Back to Baker Street?” Mycroft asked. “I’ll call a cab.” 

“No.” John shook his head. “Home is with you. It always has been.”

“John, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Please. Stay with me tonight,” John pleaded softly. 

Mycroft pressed a kiss to the top of John’s head, and led him into the house, the door closing softly behind them. The rain continued to fall, soaking through the brown paper bag, beading on the surface of a forgotten umbrella. 

\---------

_“After that, I’ll come back to London, start my own practice.” John grinned, tiptoeing his fingers up Mycroft’s bare arm, each step of a fingertip landing on a new freckle. “What do you think? Can I manage it?”_

_“I have no doubt that you could do anything you put your mind too.” Mycroft replied evenly, against the roiling of his stomach. It had been more than a year since their first night together, and still any mention of John’s upcoming graduation and deployment made him tense and anxious._

_John rolled over in the bed, sitting on the edge with the sheet pooled in his lap. He grinned over his shoulder at Mycroft before bending and plucking his jeans from the ground. Tugging them on, he zipped them up, coming over to kiss Mycroft chastely on the lips. Mycroft swung his arms up around John’s neck, tugging him close._

_John chuckled, stumbling as Mycroft yanked him down. "Whoa. What was that for?" He asked, pulling out of the kiss._

_"I find myself wishing that you wouldn't leave," Mycroft said quietly, meeting his eyes._

_"Myc, I've got class you know that," John said. “I’ll be back in a few hours, we can grab coffee.” Mycroft didn’t respond, letting him go and rolling over to face the opposite wall._

_John paused, wavering, before coming back over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Mycroft? You all right?”_

_“Fine, John. Do enjoy class. I’m not sure if I will be free later, I have quite the laundry list of tasks to accomplish.”_

_John sighed, the set of Mycroft’s shoulders telling him any further conversation would be useless. “Don’t work too hard.” He pressed a soft kiss to Mycroft’s cheek and left._

_Mycroft rolled onto his back after John left, listening to the ticking of the clock in the empty house. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the emotions bubbling inside. Sentiment would not do. Getting attached to John Watson had been a mistake. It would have to end before someone decided to take advantage, hurt John. Before he began to claw his way, tooth and nail to the top of the government. Before he drove John away, with long nights and dangerous secrets that would swirl around them, choking whatever it was that they had. He pressed the heels of his hands to his breastbone, forcing the fire burning in his chest away.No. It would not do to fall in love with John Watson. Mycroft blinked twice, swallowing the tears as he had taught himself long ago. He threw off the sheet and stood, pale body reflecting in the mirror across the room. He paused, allowing his fingers to drift over a steadily purpling splotch on his hip. John did so love to mark and claim. He pressed down with a hiss, the pain clearing his head as he made his face go blank. Time to become Mycroft Holmes._

\---------

John woke to a blinding light, and an empty bed, full of Mycroft’s scent. He forced himself up, brow furrowing at the noise of retching. Mycroft. He moved, muscles protesting at the sudden change. John tapped at the bathroom door, and entered despite Mycroft’s weak protests. He dropped to his knees beside the man, stroking his back, aches forgotten in the face of Mycroft’s distress. 

Mycroft grimaced as he vomited again, entire body shaking. He reached carefully for a flannel, wiping his mouth as he avoided John’s gaze. “Photosensitivity. I regretfully did not close the curtains last night, and when I awoke this morning…” He trailed off, eyes fluttering as he fought another bout of nausea. John moved away silently, dimming the lights. He came back, wetting a clean flannel with cold water and pulling Mycroft to rest against his chest. Mycroft sighed in relief as the cloth was placed over his eyes. 

John tipped his forehead to rest on Mycroft’s shoulder, fighting tears. Mycroft grasped blindly for his hand, bringing it to his lips. “It is all right, my John,” He said, quietly. “It will be over soon.” 

“I wish…” John began, struggling to get the words out. 

“I know, John. I know,” Mycroft said.

John swallowed roughly. “God, I’m sorry Myc.” 

They stayed on the bathroom floor, Mycroft curled against John’s chest, listening to the ticking of a far off clock. Eventually, John pulled him up, running a bath. Mycroft sank into the water gratefully, John running a soapy flannel over his body as he kneeled at the edge of the tub. Mycroft closed his eyes, head tipping back as he fought to relax into the touch, to ignore the steady sound of salty tears dripping into the still water. 

\---------

_“Myc? You home?” John called, setting his keys on the counter. He hummed lightly at the lack of response, moving through the hall. “We’re going to be late if we don’t…” John trailed off as he pushed open the bedroom door, Mycroft sitting on the edge, head bowed._

_“Mycroft? What is it? Has something happened?”_

_“You’ve got a letter,” Mycroft said softly, holding up an envelope. Johnstepped forward, taking it from him carefully. Mycroft stood and went over to the dresser, rummaging in his designated drawer. John looked at him cautiously, but Mycroft gestured for him to read._

_“They’re shipping me out. Early. The day after graduation,” John said, a faint smile on his face. “Oh but,” he glanced up to Mycroft, face falling. “We had plans.”_

_Mycroft shook his head. “No longer the case, I’m afraid. I shall be leaving the day before your graduation. I received a fellowship overseas, and I’ll be taking it.”_

_“Mycroft, that’s wonderful! Why didn’t you tell me?”_

_“Because it is of no importance.” Mycroft said softly, bending and picking up an empty satchel from beside the dresser. He began to fill it with his belongings as John watched, eyes growing wide as he realized what Mycroft was doing._

_“Mycroft...you’re not packing your things are you? You’ve got two weeks, and you’ll stay over again before you leave right?”_

_“No, John.”_

_“No? What do you mean no?” John asked faintly, “Are you...breaking up with me?”_

_Mycroft sighed, closing his eyes. “Yes. I am.” He steeled himself for the next bit, knowing that if his mask wavered at all, John would see. John always saw. “It would be best if we parted ways. I have no interest in pursuing a long distance relationship and as such, you no longer have anything to offer me. Do understand John, that there is nothing you could have done to prevent this from happening. I am truly sorry.” He turned, pushing in the empty drawer and knotting his bag shut. He met John’s eyes with a steady gaze. “Goodbye John.” He brushed past the gaping soldier, and out into the hall. He set his key down on the kitchen counter with a soft clink and made his way to the front door. Halfway to his car, he cringed, hearing John shouting after him. He turned, just as John collided into him, yanking him down for a kiss._

 

 

_Mycroft whimpered as John's tongue filled his mouth, the smaller man desperately clinging to him. "John, no." He tugged John's hands away from his shoulder, pinning his wrists together. "I cannot do this."_

_John looked, up at him, eyes hurt and angry. "Why? Give me one good reason!"_

_Mycroft swallowed. If he told John truth, the man would try to stay, out of a misguided sense of chivalry, of security, in the good of humanity. If he told John a lie, it would break the man, turn him away from Mycroft forever._

_"Mycroft, answer me." John pleaded. "Please! I don't want you to leave!"_

_Mycroft squeezed his eyes shut and dropped John's wrists. A lie then. The only way to keep John safe._

_"This relationship was doomed from the start. I should have told you at the beginning. We would always separate, always walk different paths."_

_"From the start? Myc, that's a lie, you know it is! We were fine, why are you doing this?"_

_"I never wanted you." Mycroft snapped, pushing him back. "How could I? A soldier? Useless brawn, to kill and be killed. You're nothing but a pawn, and too stupid to see it!" He might vomit. The words were slipping from his lips, tasting of tar, gritty like sand._

_"That's not true! And it's not what you think, not really." John said angrily, stumbling back. "I know you, Mycroft Holmes."_

_Mycroft shook his head at him, forcing his face to stay blank. "No, you don't. No one does."_

_"Alone doesn't protect people!" John snapped. "Why are you doing this to yourself?”_

_“Because it’s who I am!” Mycroft snapped back. “What, did you think I loved you? That we’d be happy, live together somewhere near the city? I’d go to work, come home to you and a silly house in the suburbs.”_

_“I thought that you-”_

_“Oh, how wonderfully ordinary.” Mycroft sneered, interrupting him. “You thought. With your simple little brain. Go fight for your country John, I don’t need you here.”He turned away, only to cringe slightly as John slammed his fist into the brick of the house._

_“Stop lying! Mycroft! God dammit, don’t do this!” John growled. “I love you!”_

_Mycroft spun on him. “Then that was your own mistake! We are finished, do you understand me?” he spat. “How could I ever love you? You were nothing to me, just a warm body to lay by at night.” He stood straight, swelling to his full height. “You were a fool who allowed sentiment to overcome him and that is not my fault.”_

_John dropped the hand that had been reaching out for him. “You really think that? You think love is some sort ofdefect?” His face hardened. “Fine. Leave. You’ll be alone, Mycroft. Forever, if you keep that sort of thing up.” He straightened, and turned away with a pained swallow. “Goodbye Myc.”_

_Mycroft watched him go, fighting the rise of nausea in his stomach. He waited until John had entered the house and slid into his car, turning the key and pulling away from the kerb. He made it down the street before his control broke, and Mycroft Holmes sobbed, head pillowed on the steering wheel, for the first time in twenty years._

\---------

John opened the door to Sherlock, and stepped aside letting him in. 

“You didn’t come home last night.” Sherlock stated, slipping his shoes off. John shook his head. 

“No, I was here.”

“How is he?” Sherlock asked, gaze sweeping over John, analyzing him. 

“In his office. Still working.” 

Sherlock nodded, hanging his coat by the door and making his way down the hall. John watched him go, swallowing around the lump that seemed to be permanently stuck in his throat. He moved into the kitchen, washing the dishes from breakfast. His right hand slipped into the soapy water, catching on the blade of a knife. He hissed in pain, pulling his hand from the water, wrapping it in a flannel as drops of blood bloomed in the water. 

He moved away, clenching his left hand over his right as he shook, stumbling into one of Mycroft’s kitchen chairs.He tipped his head down, breath coming in pants. Not now. He couldn’t have a panic attack over something so stupid. John heard a low keening noise as he rocked, startling as he realized it was coming from his throat.

Suddenly, Mycroft was there, crouched in front of him, prying his hands from his chest. Sherlock hoveredat the entry, eyes wide.Mycroft was stroking his back with one hand, pressing down on the bloody flannel with the other. He coaxed him from the chair, tugging him back over to the sink where the water was still running. Mycroft took his hand, sliding it under the flow of cool water. He murmured calmingly as it ran down John’s palm, filling the sink with rust-colored water. Still shaking, John leaned into him, barely noticing as Mycroft turned off the taps and dried his hand gently. Sherlock deposited a small black bag beside them, and Mycroft pulled gauze and a bandage out, wrapping John’s hand carefully. With a single look to his brother, Mycroft led John away, lying down on the couch and pulling him to his chest. John buried his head, listening to the calming thud of Mycroft’s heart. He focused his breathing with a shudder, timing them to match each swell and fall of Mycroft’s chest. The other man continued to stroke across his back, murmuring into his ear. After a bit, John sat up, lips forming an apology as Mycroft stopped him.

“It is understandable John, do not apologize.”

“I’m a complete mess, and you’re comforting me,” John said quietly. “It isn’t fair to you.” 

“It gives me something to do, to feel useful.” Mycroft replied, pulling him back down to his side. “I’ve finished my last assignment for work, signed the last papers, turned everything over to Anthea.” 

John looked up at him. 

“I am no longer the British Government, as my brother says, and I find myself adrift.” Mycroft explained. “It is strange to have no purpose in life, even if the sensation will only last for a few more days.”

“Don’t say that, Myc. I can’t hear it.”

Mycroft hummed, the vibration of his chest loud under John’s head. “You must face it. It will happen whether you do or do not.” He looked down at John, meeting the doctor’s eyes. “Sherlock has encouraged me to return to Baker Street with you both until the time comes. I explained that I would not do so without your express consent.” 

John closed his eyes unable to watch the emotions flicker across Mycroft’s face. “That would be good, yeah.”

“Very well.”

\---------

That night, they curled together in bed at Baker Street, the sounds of a mournful violin wafting up the stairs. John sighed and turned in Mycroft’s arms to face him. 

“He will miss you.” 

“I know.” Mycroft replied, hand resting on John’s hip. “I find myself wondering if I will be able to miss him. It is very strange, John. I always expected to die out in the field or of old age. Never like this.” 

John reached down to clutch his hand, squeezing tight. 

“Does it make me weak?” Mycroft asked, voice small.

“What?”

“When I found out, I went home. Pulled out a packet of pills, dissolved them in a fine scotch. Sat there for hours, but I couldn’t do it.” Mycroft said. “I couldn’t end it. Doesn’t that make me a coward?” 

“No, Myc.” John choked out. “No.”

“Then what does it make me?”

“I don’t know.” John replied, voice shaking. He moved then, kneeling and cupping Mycroft’s face. Mycroft stared at him, eyes full. John closed his eyes, closing the little distance between them for a kiss. Mycroft’s arms came up, wrapping around his neck as they kissed, open mouthed and needy. 

“I find myself wishing that you wouldn't leave." Mycroft said quietly, meeting his eyes as John put a bit of distance between them.  

“I’m not going to.” John said simply, “Not this time.” He stroked a thumb over Mycroft’s cheekbone, collecting his tears. “You’re with me for the rest of your life.”

“I love you. I did from the first night.” Mycroft murmured, pressing into the touch. “I never stopped.” 

“I never wanted to stop.” John said, leaning down to press their foreheads together. “And I didn’t. It was always you.” 

\---------

“John?” With that single word, John and Sherlock looked up and knew. Mycroft was swaying in the doorway, eyes unfocused. As he slid to the ground, John leapt up, catching him, cradling him in his arms. “A stroke then,” Mycroft slurred, “I don’t think...I don’t think I like it. Scared.” 

“Shh, Myc. You’re all right,” John said softly, tears already running down his cheeks. 

“I know. You’ve got me,” Mycroft said. “You’ll….take care of me.” His hand moved limply on the ground, Sherlock grasping it and holding it tight. “Sh’lock? Be good.” Mycroft breathed shakily. 

“John, do something!” Sherlock pleaded, “You can’t let him go.”

Mycroft shook his head sluggishly, eyes fluttering. “Let me…” 

Sherlock gave a low whine, squeezing his hand tight. The trio sat on the floor, until Mycroft’s breathing stilled, eyes shut as John’s body was racked with silent sobs . Sherlock reached a shaky hand into his pocket, pulling his phone out, summoning Anthea with one short message. 

“It is over” 

\---------

 

_Mycroft Holmes died in the kitchen of 221b Baker Street, clad in a soft forest green cardigan, with John Watson’s arms wrapped around him. Flowers filled the chapel, John blanching as he saw the names on the cards accompanying the bouquets. The eulogy was short, delivered by Anthea, stoic and unwavering in the face of her predecessor’s death. His funeral was well attended, if a bit brief. There was not much that could be shared about the man who kept the secrets of an entire nation. At the end, John was left alone at the grave stone, Sherlock hovering somewhere nearby._

_He looked down at the fresh earth, memories tumbling in his head as the scent of newly bloomed lilacs filled the air.John smiled sadly, patted the stone and walked away, beckoning Sherlock to follow with a tip of his head. As he came near, Sherlock handed him an umbrella. John took it without a word, leading the way from the cemetery._

_After all, you never know when it’s going to rain._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> And as always, find me [here](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> Any notification of errors are accepted with gratefulness that knows no bounds.  
> Kudos, comments, and your happy (pained) flailing are accepted with glee. I hope you enjoyed!  
> Thanks terribly to [Goda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Goda/pseuds/Goda) for the look over as well as everyone else who poked at this.


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